Moran's Revenge
by Dreamer of Improbable Dreams
Summary: It's a calm morning a year after Sherlock's return from the dead, and John is enjoying life more than ever. That is, at least until the moment when an old foe takes his revenge.
1. Friday

Friday

John walked into the main room of their shared flat in Baker Street, and once again experienced that strange feeling of both shock and complete joy when he saw Sherlock standing in the room. He was just standing there looking out of the window, wearing his blue dressing gown and holding a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, just like he had done so many mornings before this.

But John still couldn't quite grasp in his head that he was actually _here_. That Sherlock Holmes, the man who he had thought dead for three years was back again, and it still came as a surprise even now, 14 months after his return to the living.

In the beginning, John had been furious him. In the three years of abandonment, he'd gone through hell and he'd only just started to accept it. He was trying to move on; he was trying to get on with his life.

And just as he had come to terms with the hell that was his existence, Sherlock had burst into his flat, expecting to be welcomed with open arms. John did not grant him that.

But that was a long time ago. That had been last year in the winter of depression, beaten down by seemingly un-ending solitude. This was the time of sweet mornings that smelt like coffee and the scent of Sherlock's skin.

John walked up behind his flatmate and put his arms around him. He breathed in the air that surrounded Sherlock and closed his eyes, laying his head down on the shoulder of the taller man.

Sherlock's long and elegant fingers caressed John's hand in calm motion.

"Sleep well?" he asked in a deep, whispering voice that shook his ribcage and John could feel his words much more than hear them.

"Mm-mmm." he simply replied, not finding it necessary to use actual words to express himself. In fact, Sherlock could probably read him anyway, making all forms of communication completely pointless.

Sherlock put down his coffee and released himself from John's grip only just enough to turn around in his arms and face him. A smile brushed his lips with the greatest caution, hardly moving his muscles at all.

John raised himself to the tip of his toes in order to put his lips to Sherlock's.

Their lips hardly touched as they slowly and ever so lightly kissed in the morning sunlight.

Then they grew more brutal in their ways. Sherlock's arms wrapped around John and held him tight, almost trying to push him further towards him than was physically possible. John's hands searched their way to Sherlock's hair and tangled themselves into it, grabbing fistfuls of hair in the confusing passion that suddenly hid him with the touch of his friend and lover.

Lips got violently pulled apart by feverish lips and teeth bit in everything they could find. They pushed their bodies up against each other so firmly they forgot they were two people in separate bodies.

Then Sherlock's phone lid up and the ringtone started playing.

The kiss died out reluctantly, but they didn't move away from each other at first. A long moment passed with them just standing up against each other panting heavily.

Then John sighed and pulled away, gesturing his permission for Sherlock to answer it. Sherlock shrugged and sent him an apologizing smile.

His graceful fingers picked up the phone and answered the call. The ringtone finally died out.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked.

There was no one on the other end, and Sherlock felt puzzled for less than a blink of an eye.

Then a bullet fired through the window, sending splintered glass flying everywhere and ripping through the detective's skull. Blood smashed out on the wall behind him and the wrenched body fell heavily to the ground.

John didn't even have enough time to realise what just happened, before a second bullet penetrated his skull.


	2. Tea and Nightmares

82 days before the Fall.

There are some very delicate lines in life when talking about relationships. The thin line that separates friend and flatmate or perhaps the line between nemesis and enemy.

In this time of his life, Sebastian Moran found himself balancing on the tightrope between being the employee of Jim Moriarty and being his ally.

However hard Sebastian tried, he could not seem to find the proper word for the relation they shared. He wasn't just his employee; that was for certain. Moriarty didn't invite any of his other bodyguards to his flat whenever he felt he needed extra protection, or even in the more unusual case, to be his company on a particular dull night. He certainly didn't order just anyone to stay over for the night, sitting in his living room with a loaded gun in their hands in case of an assassination attempt. Those did occur once in a while; it was only suspected with the important position Moriarty held, but most didn't get past the state of wondering whether or not it would be a good idea to kill him, before Sebastian had eliminated the threat by putting a bullet in their heads.

But Sebastian certainly wasn't Moriarty's ally either. In that case, he would be his equal, and that was completely out of the question. The master mind that was this consulting criminal did not need allies of any sort.

Sebastian was in his room, casually lying on his four-poster bed with his shoes on the pillow, going through the problem in his head, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He picked it up and swept it open.

_**Come here now.**_

_**Do hurry.**_

_**-J**_

He sighed. Moriarty did have a tendency to be both straight-forward and enigmatic and the same time. It was a particular talent of his, though he had a habit of leaning somewhat to the latter at most times.

Nevertheless, Sebastian did not wait a moment, but got up and pulled his jacket from the coat hanger on his way out the door. He was at Moriarty's place in less than a minute.

Moriarty lived in a fancy flat in the middle of London. It was an unusually nice place in an unusually nice neighbourhood. He wanted to make sure that he would not be disturbed by pathetic minions that were unaware of his status as a criminal mastermind, so naturally he had bought every estate in a considerable radius, and in them had he put those employees he thought would be least likely to turn on him.

So, naturally Sebastian lived on the floor beneath Moriarty's.

Sebastian knocked three times on the door, and a mechanical imitation of Moriarty's voice greeted him.

"Oh hello, Moran. Fancy seeing you here. Want to pop in for a cup of tea and an offer to be part of a greater criminal plot?" said he in his smooth, charming voice.

Sebastian was just thinking of a witty comeback that wouldn't put him in danger of getting killed in a particularly horrible way, but Moriarty did not wait for an answer. The door swung open.

Sebastian walked in and found Moriarty sitting in a comfy chair in his sparingly decorated main room. There was tea on the table, and the man himself was sipping from a small cup. Sebastian wondered how that man could manage to successfully drink hot liquid from a cup when seated in an angle so obscure, his feet was higher than his head.

"Boss." Sebastian greeted with his best efforts at being polite and professional.

"Oh hello there. Did I mention there was tea?" Moriarty asked and gestured to the table, again astonishing Sebastian with his success in not giving himself a second-degree burn.

"It might have slipped your tongue," Sebastian said and sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"Ooh, wrong answer. Nothing slips my tongue."

That man could say the simplest of lines in the most dramatic way.

He sat in silence, watching the sniper pour himself a cup of tea. He took it a small amount of cream and no sugar.

"Who do you want me to kill?" he asked as he felt Moriarty's increasingly obvious stare on him.

"Oh, no one important and not yet." The boss told him waving the problem away with a gesture of his hand.

"Then why did you call me here?"

"I have an offer to propose."

He paused his speak in order to sip his tea.

"I'd like for you to move into this flat on a more permanent basis."

"Why?" asked Sebastian. His dark eyebrow rose in suspicion. Moriarty always had a reason.

"In order to ensure my safety, which I have reason to believe might be at risk. Also, and maybe primarily, because I am planning a masterpiece of a criminal act. You have an important part in this plan, and I need you with me when I plan it."

"What is the plan?" Sebastian did not like the enigmatic look in his boss' eyes.

"Well, the plan is split up into many parts. The first one includes stealing the crown jewels."

A man less used to surprises of this sort, might have dropped their cup or burst into laughter at this point, but Sebastian was not such a man. He merely raised a sceptic eyebrow.

"You don't think that would be a tad ambitious of you?" he asked coolly.

"Oh, not at all." A smile even brushed the lips of the criminal and echoed in his voice.

"So what's the plan?" Sebastian kept himself from rolling his eyes. "Walk in with tourists, break glass, take jewels, walk out and wave at the police as you walk past them?"

This time Moriarty really let out a small laughter.

"Oh Seb, you are jumping to conclusion." He put down his cup and folded his hands. His eyes had a mysterious grin in them as he looked at him. "When did I ever say I would get the jewels out of the Tower?"

Moriarty said nothing more on that subject, and instead the two of them talked about previous and upcoming murders together. That was the passion that they shared: Death of others. Although, Sebastian cared more about the actual killing technique, Moriarty was more interested in making their lives miserable before their deaths.

They sat up talking in the living room for a couple of hours. Twice Sebastian had to make more tea to supply them.

"Are you tired?" Moriarty asked concerned, as Sebastian yawned loudly. He had done so frequently over the last half hour.

"Terribly so," he admitted as he tried his best to keep his eyes open. He was beginning to wonder if open eyes were even necessary. None of them had cared enough to put some light on when the sun went down, so they sat in almost complete darkness. Sebastian could hardly make out the figure of his boss. However, he still felt like he could sense the dark eyes staring at him.

"It's only midnight." Moriarty said after looking at his watch.

"I was up very early this morning." Sebastian explained. "I had to, um, finish the McIntosh case, didn't I? At 5 o'clock in the morning for some reason."

"Yes, I see."

Sebastian could have sworn he heard some kind of sadness in that voice.

"Would you like to sleep?"

Had he not known his boss better, he might have taken this as some sort of kindness or sympathy.

"Either that or some coffee." he suggested, not wanting to burden him.

"Oh no, do go to sleep. I was going to bed now anyway, you might as well too."

At these words Moriarty got up and brought the tea to the kitchen.

"You can sleep on the sofa." he shouted at him as he went through the door.

"No no, I really can't." Sebastian said following his boss. He took up the china that Moriarty had tossed in the sink and loaded it in the dishwasher. Moriarty leaned up against the wall and watched him.

"I won't let you compromise your safety because of my tiredness. I'll make myself some coffee and stay up when you go to sleep. I can always sleep tomorrow morning."

Sebastian could see the light from a phone's display in the reflection in the window. Moriarty's eyes looked even darker and hollower in the artificial blue light.

"No worries, I've texted Miller to be on guard." he announced. Miller was the bodyguard Moriarty had hired to live on the lowest floor. Sebastian had no way to express his gratitude.

"Thank you," he said in a low voice.

Moriarty went to bed a few minutes later, and Sebastian fell asleep on the sofa moments after that.

It was a few hours after that when Sebastian was brutally awoken by a shout of horror ripping through the flat. It was followed by a series of small screams that slowly dissolved into heavy pants and whimpers that escaped with each breath of the man that slept in the only bedroom of the flat.

Sebastian opened his eyes and sighed. He knew those noises more than well, and he had suddenly realised why Moriarty had been so eager for him to stay with him this night.

Moriarty was a great man. A solid, untouchable one, too. He had an image in this city as someone who had no weaknesses or moments of fragility. But he had, though. Sebastian knew this because he stayed wwith him during the night once in a while, and sometimes Moriarty would wake up from some terrible nightmare, screaming with fear. The first time, Sebastian had been confused and baffled, but had stayed with him for the rest of the night, soothing the mastermind by stroking his hair and whispering softly. Moriarty refused to this day to tell him what the nightmares were about.

Moriarty had made the most macabre of threats if he were ever to let this secret of his slip into the knowledge of anyone, and Sebastian did not doubt he would go through with it if he ever had to.

And still, he had thought these nightmares were over. It had been many months since the last time, and he figured that they must have returned quite drastically, and that Moriarty didn't want to be alone if he were to wake up in the middle of the night covered in his own cold sweat.

So Sebastian got up from the sofa and went into his boss' bedroom that was in complete darkness apart from the soft and cold moonlight.

"I see the nightmares have returned. Are you all right?" he asked as calm as he could.

Moriarty was still whimpering and trembling all over his body. He shook his head.

"Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?" Sebastian asked, not completely sure what he was supposed to do with the current situation. Moriarty opened his eyes and stared up at Sebastian with a begging expression in them. Sebastian found the whole situation wrong. Moriarty was the toughest man he knew, and now he was staring down at his half-naked and shaking body with eyes as wide and innocent as a boy's.

"No." said his trembling, frightened voice. "Just… stay with me."

And so Sebastian sighed and lay down on Moriarty's bed and put an arm around him. The grown man that in this moment seemed more like a weak child than ever, held his arms around his sniperman.

In this moment, as he was lying up against the trembling body in the middle of the night, Sebastian suddenly knew what he was to the consulting criminal.

He was Jim Moriarty's only friend.


End file.
